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Posted: Sun Apr 18, 2004 1:53 pm

Slowly Alandriel relaxed her arms. Blood running down her empty, left hand collected in a small pool by her feet – one amongst many she noted somewhat hazily. The Eket came to rest at her right. Closing her eyes for a moment, she gave a sigh. Maybe when she opened them he would be gone. Why did he have to look like this? He reminded her too much of …. Suddenly she was glad for the pain in her shoulder. She opened her eyes again.

“I’m still here.” The mirth in his voice was unmistakeable. “Do you know…?”

“No,” she interrupted him, hissing through clenched teeth. “As a matter of fact I don’t know you. You’ve never shown yourself before.”

His arched eyebrow rose even higher: “Not pleased then are you I saved your skin? It would do very ill if you did not get your party together, curunis athirn nín.” 1)

“You have the nerve to call me sorceress when you….”

“Now, now. Let’s not quarrel shall we? After all we both serve the same side – unlike those”. He pointed to the three bodies.

“And just who is it you serve? How do I know you’re not in league with them?”

The look he gave her said it all and for a moment she felt ashamed for having voiced her doubts. Averting her eyes, she re-sheathed the Eket and then watched as he bent over one of the bodies and pulled it up effortlessly. Pulling the shirt aside he said: “Recognize this?” The dead Haradrim had the same red flame tattoo on his shoulder like the first assassin. With a short yank he removed the chain from around the man’s neck and let him slump to the floor again. The trinket he held out for her to see. “And this?” It was the same pendant, black stone – only now she could discern that one side held a white star – she had seen on the first assassin. She nodded.

“But you don’t know the meaning of it?”

She shook her head.

“They belong to a secret sect in Harad, an offshoot of the Servants of the Real Fire. They, the Baudarain…“ Alandriel’s eyes flashed as she recognized the name. That had been their battle cry. “… which means Keepers, believe that Malkôra, Morgoth by another name, was betrayed by Alúva, Ilúvatar, and tricked into exile. They also hold that only through the control of the essence…. “ By now her brow was deeply furrowed. “…and the maintenance of the true Flame can he be set free. Some Baraudin bear special markings, usually according to their rank. Not all, but many. All however bear a tattoo of a red flame. They search the lands for magic and magical items to help them in their ‘control’ of the essence; and they also go after those they know to interfere.”

Slowly some puzzle pieces began to fall into place. “That’s why they came after me? But how….?”

“Clearly they were directed… drawn here. But by whom…..” He shrugged. From the turn of his voice and countenance however Alandriel could clearly discern that the matter concerned him. Deeply.

“What…?” she began but her question was arrested as he placed his finger against her lips.

“Stille nú - Na-erui býr faeg i ndúath hain, i cheriad i-naid toled.
Noro geleg na forod gerich lû farn.” 2)


Lowering his hand, he took hold of hers, dropping the chain and pendant in it. Almost tenderly he then folded her fingers tight around it. “Dindraug feels it too” he said, his deep blue eyes now sinking into hers.

“You’ve found him? He’s here then?” Relief bordering on excitement at these news tinged her voice.

He nodded. “Soon he will find you and you him but before that there is someone else who you’ll meet.”

She was just about to ask to whom he was alluding too when his voice took a dark turn and he added urgently: “Don’t loose too much time. Noro geleg na forod gerich lû farn!” 2)

“U-delithach?” 3)

He took a few paces back.

“Baid nîn a lîn adethartham.
No vell– a no díriel; daefaeroth bronia raig ‘erthib.
I hîr i-faen gen ú-awarthatha. Lhuin gen tegitha ui.” 4)


His low voiced answer, although somewhat reassuring made her lower her head. The rugged pattern of cobble stones filled her view. Some rough, some smooth. Some broken and chipped, some new. Each piece different yet all bellowing…… falling into a pattern; each one but a single stone yet an aspect of something more important…. something larger…..something greater.

Suddenly a rumble of thunder disturbed her impromptu reverie. Heavy raindrops began to fall, hitting the cobble stones and bouncing back. Alandriel clenched her fist tight around the chain until she could feel her nails bite into her palm. When she raised her head – she knew - he would have vanished.

“Sílo i Anor na venech”, she whispered quietly into the rain. 5)

‘…but before that there is someone else you’ll meet’. The words echoed in her head as he made her way out of the fateful alley suppressing an urge to glance back. ‘It’s no use! Riddles upon riddles….’ But then her thoughts were suddenly arrested when she saw a figure emerge from under the shelter of an overhanging balcony. She stopped dead in her tracks.

“You……?!?!?!?!”


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Sindarin translations courtesy of Breogan and Eression

1) curunis athirn nín: favourite sorceress of mine

2) Stille nú - Na-erui býr faeg i ndúath hain, i cheriad i-naid toled. Noro geleg na forod gerich lû farn. > Quiet now - Lowly servants of the shadow these only were; a taste of things to come. Hasten north while there is time

3) U-delithach > Will you not come?

4) Baid nîn a lîn adethartham. No vell– a no díriel; daefaeroth bronia raig ‘erthib. I hîr i-faen gen ú-awarthatha. Lhuin gen tegitha ui. > Lit. My paths and yours will reunite [meet again]. Be strong [be your-heart strong] – and be watchful; [a] shadows-hunter endures horrible dangers. The Lord of spirits will not forsake you. Irmo [Desirer] will ever lead you)

5) Sílo i Anor na venech > May the sun shine upon your road

Posted: Sun Apr 25, 2004 7:40 am

Areanor was sipping at her second mug of ale now. After filling her stomach with a dish of the house-made stew – it wasn’t that much, but it was hot – she felt a bit better. Leaning back on the wall, she looked around to get a feel for the place. After witnessing an Elf announcing a reward for leading this Alandriel to him, she took a parchment out of her bag and started to write a short report for her superior back at Minas Tirith. As he happened to be her grandsire either, he would want to know the full tale of the incidents that made her come late to meet Baradan.

She was rolling up the unfinished letter – she wanted to add more after talking to the mysterious lady – when her attention was distracted by the entrance of a hobbit. A Hobbit? Here in all of the places? And her astonishment grew when she heard him ask for the whereabouts of the same person she wanted to meet.

When she overheard that Alandriel would only be back by nightfall, she decided to get her things to her room first. The wisdom of that decision was confirmed by the fact that just at the same moment a short brawl started with the drenched-looking corsair and a Haradrim who turned out to be a pick-pocket. So she took her belongings and went to see her room and to leave her things there. On that occasion she used the liniment with Athelas and Arnica which Englethorne had given to her. There would be a nasty scar left on her leg and it would take another fortnight until she would be able to walk properly again. There was a messenger’s station somewhere near the haven, she knew. As she intended to leave her letter with them, she could ask then for a horse, too. Her thoughts lingered on that while she limped back down the stairs to the guest room. Suddenly she stood dead in her tracks. Why would Alandriel want to meet Baradan here at the haven? Might she want to go on by ship? Then Areanor wouldn’t need to get a horse anyway. She shrugged and limped on. This would only be solved by nightfall when the lady would appear. Would she be disappointed to be met by a young skilled, but inexperienced woman rather than the old broadsword Baradan? Well, as he had said, Areanor was all that she would get.

Was she? Thinking of the rather unlikely gathering of folk who wanted to meet that lady. A distinguished looking Elf, a Hobbit, she herself and who knew who else. Where else had this plea for help been sent to?

When she entered the smoky and dark room, again the name Alandriel was spoken. This time by the hobbit to another stranger who sat there with a hood only showing the face. Areanor looked closely. Another Elf, this time a woman. And that dark man, who had earlier broke so lightly the arm of the Haradrim. The Gondorian decided to join that table and reveal her interest in that lady a lot of people seemed to look for.

„I beg your pardon, but I also am waiting for Alandriel, so may I join you here?“ She bowed her head lightly in the direction of the elven lady and sat down on the table. „My name is Areanor and I came from Minas Tirith.“ Her gaze caught that of the bald man who sat opposite her. She had never met a corsair before, but had heard stories of them at Dol Amroth. In the summer she had spent there she had laughed at the eagerness with which the young girls there listened to all of them. Their brothers had told her that all young girls seemed to long for meeting a handsome corsair, for these seemed to promise adventure, risk and romance to them. Areanor smiled inwardly. This drowned man didn’t look like he would held these promises, even as he was dressed like a corsair. But nonetheless his dark eyes, deeper than the wells in the mines of Moria, held secrets. As she knew that corsairs were never to be trusted, she was eager to hear what his story would reveal.

Posted: Mon Apr 26, 2004 5:33 am

Kalin sat back to appraise his new companions, all of whom hung on the words of the elf: “I hear you seek the Ranger Alandriel”. Oh the Halfling had chattered, he had heard that they always did. But it was that line that he and several others in the room caught. The barman, he raised his eyebrows. The bard, she dropped a note in an otherwise flawless performance.

And now others gathered, like vultures on the carcass of that one line. The arrival of the Gondorian wench was an eye opener, to be sure. Kalin smiled, a deep friendly smile and looked at the others.

“So, we have all come to meet Alandriel then, for her quest. My introduction to it was lacking a few of the finer points, you might say. But I am sure that it will be a worthy enterprise, and not the least profitable for us all.”

“Profit, Master Kalin?” said Tibo, his small face flushed with the fine ale. “You are here just for money?” The hobbit stood, and looked at the Corsair, his Shireborn eyes flashing somewhat with confusion and contempt.

“No, nooo Master Took. I am here because our cause is righteous, but I am a trader by profession and always interested in where me next meal is to come from” smiled Kalin, his broad smile easing the halfing back to his seat.

“So, you are a trader. Are you to be our captain then Mister Dineen?” asked Areanor. Her eyebrows were raised, interested. Kalin was not sure of her accent. Did she know this Alandriel, or Darthir of Dol Amroth? Was she from Southern Gondor; her lands were naturally those of his people whose position had been usurped so long ago. Were they enemies of the blood, would he have to kill her in the night? He smiled at her, his face showing nothing but the friendly childlike smile of the unsophisticated yet infatuated man to her rich and noble beauty.

“Alas Mistress Areanor,” he started and he forced himself to blush slightly “I am a Captain, but my ship suffered a terrible calamity on the way here and all you see is all that survived”

“Oh Mr Kalin!” said Tibo, his eyes wide and almost spilling his drink “I am so glad you are safe”

“Me too my little friend. I am safe, and I have kept my obligation to Lord Darthir to meet Alandriel, but I am still no wiser regarding the little matter of this quest of hers” Kalin looked at the others, his eyes flicking over each one. He could tell little, and maybe this was not the time. Well he had all evening, and his mind started to flit .

The elf and the Gondorian, losing interest started to talk, but Kalin could see that the Halfling was still fascinated in his story. An idea started to play in the back of his mind.

“Of course I will always escape as long as I have me lucky dice with me” He said to the wide eyes that watched him.

“You have lucky dice.?” Said the Hobbit, “I have dice, I was given them by my Uncle in the great fair at Michael Delving three years ago. They are said to be dragon bone, and were given to him by no less than Mr Bilbo Baggins at his eleventy first birthday party. Of course Mr Baggins gave everybody presents, but these are said to have come all the way from Dale, and there was a dragon firework at the party-“

“You like dice, well I am a bit of an aficionado of dice. I could let you see mine, which are just plain old Narwhal tusk, if I could see yours. Dragon you say?” Kalin smiled, and fished in his pocket for a small leather bag.

“Yes real dragon, and…what’s a Narwhal, I haven’t heard of them?”

“Well it’s a magical whale that lives in the far northern sea, rarely seen by men or never reported because it is said that if you see the long tusk they will steal all your luck and your ship will sink. But if you find a dead ‘un, and make dice from the tusk you will be lucky unless you meet a lucky man, or Halfling. Do you know dice games Tibo?” Kalin looked at the awestruck hobbit and his eyes shone in the firelight…


….“Are you sure you will look after Lutz now mister Kalin? I mean I feel so bad for losing him to you. He is my friend, and I never thought that I could possibly lose him to you. I mean the money, well I will just have to do without, but Lutz is my friend and I would not want him to come to harm”. Kalin looked at the Hobbit. They had played dice for some time, and the pirate had come to like Tibo. He was pure, naïve but had hope in the world and his eyes were full of excitement. Kalin had never wanted the gambling to go so far, but it had and now he owned the Hobbit’s goods and his mule, and he felt bad. The little man had not spotted him cheating like an Umbarian monkey.

“Master Took, I will make sure that when we meet this Alandriel we will find out what is going on, and if we have to sail I will find a home for your mule in this city or keep him safe on the ship, and with a healthy stipend to make sure he is kept well. And you have my word on that”. The corsair looked around, refusing to meet the eyes of the others round the table. He knew though that the hobbit and he would have a long and successful friendship, and that he owed him a debt.

A long time ago in the ruins of the fleet at Pelargir when he had fallen into the sea and nearly drowned, Kalin had a vision. He knew now what it meant, and how it was all wrapped up in the small figure who sipped tentatively at the small glass of mead. What he did not know was what the rest of it meant, who was the shadowy figure that had held out her hand to him, and what darkness had moved in the water. He shivered despite the heat of the fire, and looked into the fire.

Posted: Tue Apr 27, 2004 3:30 am ...

**** To the North **** SHADOWRIDER & ELFHUNTER

"Ávalatya topsanwë!" *)

The late afternoon light that streamed in through a jagged gap where once had stood a proud wall did nothing to alleviate the darkness the stone vaulted chamber was suddenly plunged in.

"What do you mean to be sneaking up on me, Lómiroquen?" One hand rested atop the small, bronze studded chest. The other had reached under the folds of his cloak.

"You can play with your toys as much as you wish. This one you leave alone, Eldaraimo."

Suddenly the cloaked figure laughed. "Why? She is busy with her diversions, you have yours. Why can't I have mine?"

Lómiroquen eyes hardened.

"Or have you grown soft over the ages that now you are at her beck and call?"

The dark orbs of the mail clad immortal threw angry sparks at the shrouded figure that stood but three paces away yet he did not move. Time seemed to freeze as both creatues stood locked in a silent battle of wills. Then Lómiroquen's bloodless lips curled into an amused smile.

"You are to leave at break of night."

Eldaraimo drew himself up to his full height, his hand re-emerging from the folds of his cloak.

"Change of plans." Lómiroquen's tone was matter of fact, cold as ice.

"Has she put you up to this?" The voice coming from the deep hood was a hiss of pure venom. His long, claw-like fingers tightened on the box.

"That stays."

The air in the chamber seemed to crackle with the powers barely held in check within.

"You are to go ahead. We will follow later; when you have accomplished your task in Ered Umarth."

A satisfied cackle echoed down behind the deserted corridor as Eldaraimo stormed out. 'She will pay for this – I will make her pay for this…' Suddenly he stopped. He reversed his steps to make for the steps that led to the lower levels, a cruel smile spreading on his face.

'Yes! That will do nicely...spoil her fun... Why shouldn't I? A little sport – training - after all these ages will do me good."

His smile grew wider. He laughed. "Three! Spoilt for choice! Harry them till their hearts burst! Harrow them into oblivion, screaming!'


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*) Ávalatya topsanwë (Q: Close the chest!)
Lómiroquen = Q. Shadowrider / Eldaraimo = Q. Elf hunter

Posted by Tanith

Posted: Wed Apr 28, 2004 5:04 am

~~~~~~~~~~~~
When he forced her head into the ground, the earth tasted of fresh rainfall.

The bitter-sweet tang of newly drawn blood bloomed at the right side of her mouth, channeling from a slash cresting her cheekbone; her right arm riddled with cuts, limp and numb as the blood pooled beneath her. Her ears rang with the incessant shrill of pain, and her senses became dulled. It wouldn't be long now.

Her assailants were laughing - a cruel, garrish booming that curdled her insides. The larger of the four, whose face she had not yet seen, wrapped a bear-like fist around a knot of her aspen tresses and threw her unceremoniously onto her back in a motion that near snapped her neck. The smaller - a stocky, bow-legged vagrant with a face disfigured by scars - seemed content with cackling raucously amidst his ceaseless, vindictive taunting. She knew better than to move; the odds were not in her favour. Had she had the foresight to keep her weaponry close at hand to the bunk, or indeed, not been abed at the time of the onslaught, perhaps she would have managed a more advantageous position. But as it happened, she had been afforded no such luxuries.

The air about her began to feel grossly thickened - cumbersome to inhale and threaded with the muted groan of the one she had managed to cripple just moments earlier: his shattered knee now nothing more than a gruesome, bloodied protuberance. Her agility had afforded her this one solid assault where most would have standed no chance; just seconds before she was thrown headlong out of the thick-paned window of the sleeping quarters.

"Well, ain't you the wild one, eh wench?" A high-pitched rasp - unmistakably the stocky taunter of the group. "Never ye mind, we'll find ways to put that energy to good use, eh?"
The amused snorts and whoops that followed sent a new form of rage coursing through her veins; a rage of cold-blooded hatred and vengeance, that would have her tear out the accursed eyeballs from their pitiless faces and drive hard steel through their blackened hearts. Her hands balled so tightly into fists that her nails cut flesh, and her palms bled. She must not move yet.

Another approached, darkly clothed, more slightly built than the others. His poise was more upright, his gait smoother, and the fingers that peeked out from beneath his long shift were slender and pale. Her attuned eyes took him in as the practiced fighter - the real danger of the group.

"Just look at those eyes - so furious. She is indeed a wild one. I'd swear the very fires of hell's belly be burnin' alight in em’."

"Ay, poetic, now shove off. Git."
And in his over-confident, brutish manner, the stocky taunter shoved the other backwards.

All it took was that finite moment of distraction for her to make her move.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The rest were dead. Of the five that had been in the inn that night – the owner and his wife, and the other two guests – not one had withstood the abruptness with which they had pillaged. She bathed her wounds, pulling shards of glass from where they had become painfully embedded into her flesh, swathing the blood from her face and neck, massaging the life back into her assaulted limbs. Her possessions were gone; swept away by the lone survivor, the slimmer assailant – her hopes of recovering them, miniscule. The road from Esgaroth would be cruel, and she scavenged what little she could from that which remained; scant weaponry from the bodies of those she had overcome, a weather-beaten cloak, some stale bread ends.
And the parchment – a name, place and request pulled from the corpse of a dead guest, of which she knew naught about, yet promised an immediate, profitable escape from the deathly silence she found herself enveloped by. So much… so much she sought to escape.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She reached the Seven Stars a full ten-day later. Limbs taut and aching, possessions scant, but her eyes alight with a spirited vehemence that glowed bronze in evening’s pallor. Alandriel. The word tasted foreign to her mouth, and she let the name lilt across her tongue in silent repertoire- once, thrice- before stepping up to the heavy, weathered door.
Her entrance into the muted hubbub of the inn was at first, an unacknowledged affair. Light of foot and ever watchful, she assumed an unobtrusive vigilance near the fire, drawn to the animated chatter of what appeared to be a rather enchanting, woolen-haired child amongst a rather strange choice of company.

It was the corsair who noticed her first.
~~~~~~~

Posted: fr. April, 30, 2004

While chatting some unimportant small-talk with the elf, who called herself Legyviel, her attention was distracted to the doings of the Periannath and the bald man, who had been talking about obligations for Lord Darthir. Dice were rolled. And with ghostly skill Kalin-el-Dineen dispossessed the Hobbit from nearly all his belongings and his mule either. Green eyes and piercing blue eyes met. Legyviel shrugged. The elf didn’t seem to care much for the foolishness of the Took. Areanor leaned back to watch and think. Surely the Knight of Dol Amroth wouldn’t send a man in his name who cheated on a simple game of dice? Shortly before the Hobbit would have to stake his clothes, they finished the game. Another round of this weak northern brew was ordered, but the corsair seemed to feel a bit uncomfortable and wouldn’t meet their eyes. Silence fell heavy on the table for a moment. Then Areanor leaned over to the Periannath. “You were very wise to get rid of your mule, before we get on board of a ship. Mules tend to be rather upset on the water and so you won’t be the one who has to care for it.” Big child-like eyes with an innocent and naive expression looked up at her. Tibodom Took even managed a wry smile. Then she smiled at the bald man. “Would your lucky dice also work for me?” He looked her up and down, frowning. “Well, If you want to get rid of something, sure they would work for such a charming lady.” His lips split open in a grin, showing a sparkle on his golden teeth, and with a nod towards her, he added: “We could play for that ring of yours.” She looked down at her left hand, where a flower seemed to wind itself around her fourth finger. “Ah, no, thank you. It is a small reminder of Ithilien, where I spent some years and I’d like to keep it.” She traced her gaze back at him, resting her chin in her palm while her elbow was leaned on the table. “I heard that at Pelargir people who have such an uncanny luck with dice are considered as wizards and not treated very gently. As you have surely more travelled around that part of Middle Earth, you might be able to tell me if this is true?” An innocent smile was beamed at the corsair. Areanor knew she might have to pay for this remark. Not now. Not yet. He would wait and think about a proper retribution, but his eyes showed it clearly to her, though he still kept his grin on the face. Then his gaze shifted . Areanor turned halfway around to see what had caught his attention.

Posted: Tue May 4, 2004 12:43 pm

It wasn’t as much the sound of battle that caught -and kept- the sailor’s attention as the tongue of the South, even if no more than one word had been uttered. The Haradaic cry turned quite a few heads of passers-by but they quickly moved on. Some continued along their pre-determined path, some - rather hastily - changed direction altogether. They all had one thing in common though: all stayed well away from an alley up ahead.
Arunakhôr narrowed his eyes. A hiss escaped his clenched teeth – a word in a tongue as uncommon here as the one that had echoed down between the houses only seconds before.

Bauderain…

He had to admit he had thought their 'clan' was no longer part of this world. No word, no rumour of them had reached his ears during his recent forays. Despite that, he should have known. Some flames - especially this one - were hard to extinguish. Highly secretive, invisible they were, until it was too late; until they were about to slice one's throat. The Bauderain never made a move in public without a reason. If they were here, matters of great importance - earthly affairs or higher causes - were at stake.

What he thought about the Bauderain - and more generally about the Servants of the Secret Fire? Simple! They were the enemies of his enemies.
Did that make them friends? In most cases it probably would…. but this was not one of those cases. No longer did he believe in the ends they pursued. Long years spent in pain with nothing to do but think had disillusioned him. It had been a long time since he had worshipped anyone.

Arunakhôr had not come here to get mixed up in any dark dealings of the Baudarain. Followers of Malkôra they were, advocates of the dark Lord of the World as he was known in some parts of the South where the fallen Ainur of the Eldar days were worshipped to this day. The only reason he had come this far North, contrary to his heart which longed to settle in Umbar, was that he disliked following paths so many trod.

He looked over his shoulder. Apart from his presence, the street was deserted.

He turned his gaze ahead again. A fountain, standing in the middle of a small square marked the centre point of two crossroads. The fountain's form was gracious, charming, elegantly coiling – clearly made by elven hands. Its water splashed down into a marble basin and, accompanied by the soft whistling wind which made the water ripple, it produced a sound that was strongly reminiscent of a lament.

Slowly his feet started moving again and after a few steps his pace quickened. Fleet-footed, surprisingly so for a man his size, he made for the square. He halted when he reached the fountain, his fingers touching the cold, smooth marble while he listened attentively. Where were the sounds coming from?
Ahhh… yes….. from up ahead in that narrow alley. However, he could not get a clear line of sight for numerous balconies and galleries, so typical for this city, impeded his view.
He was no fool. He would never expose himself to the Bauderain unless it was crucial. That however, would hardly ever be necessary. Their business never had been his - and vice versa. Yet, to make certain that that was still the case he needed a better look. His dark eyes screened the environment. Not long did he have to search.

Crossing the curved street he had walked before order to stay out of sight of the alley that held his interest, he reached a narrow gallery. It provided just enough cover for him to be able to skirt the wall leading up to a corner undetected. Taking another step would enable him to round the corner. But that would also expose him - even if only for a split second. He hesitated. But then the clear ringing of steel compelled him to move - one, two giant leaps.

Pressing his dark clad figure against the wall where some large, stacked, oaken barrels left only a small strip between them and the balcony above, Arunakhôr narrowed his eyes. He peered up ahead. He could clearly distinguish a dark robed man and a person of smaller, lighter stature – a woman ?!?! - engaged in a vicious sword fight. Imperceptibly he shook his head. What iniquitous odds! Pressing his lips together in concentration he followed the events, wondering what the woman had done to elicit such aggression.
Suddenly his right hand moved across his waist. His fingers closed on the cold hilt of his cutlass that hung off a heavy leather sheath strapped across his torso. Stepping forward, one boot exposed to the faint sunlight for but one moment, he quickly retreated. It was neither fear nor cowardice that had made him stop. It was the same intuition, a flash of recognition that - subconsciously - had made him grab for his weapon; that had driven him to step forward in the first place - that now held him back. He knew her, the red haired woman who now was forced into defence. The man driving her towards the wall was moving his curved sword at a deadly pace.

He knew her…! No, his eyes must be playing tricks on him. Her appearance was the same - only, she looked not a day older. How was that possible? The one he at first sight had taken her for would be much older now. It was long since he had encountered that one. It was difficult for him to determine for certain just how long ago exactly. Yet one thing he could determine with absolute conviction: were she indeed that woman, she would appear older than the one he saw now.
He focussed back on the action. Suddenly another man joined the scene, crossing the street with his sword drawn. Arunakhôr followed the events without even the slightest hint of wanting to interfere as it was immediately clear to him that the newly arrived man came to the aid of the redhead. He saw how the assassin fell with one mighty stab of the shining blade, saw now also that there were more who already had been slain. Watching the pair, he could well imagine what it was the man explained to the woman while she recovered from the ordeal. With interest he followed his moves as he pulled one of the bodies up and soon after held up something small, something that looked like a chain with a pendant.
And then suddenly, he was gone, as if he had disappear while the sailor had done nothing more than blink. Arunakhôr felt uneasy and he scanned anew the roofs and balconies as far as it was possible without him having to leave his hiding place. In the end he concluded with a shrug that it probably was of little importance just who the man had been, why he was here and helpful, and how he had been able to vanish into thin air.

A sudden crack of thunder interrupted Arunakhôr’s reverie, making him aware that the woman had started to move, walking towards him just as the first drops of rain hit the cobblestones; thick, lazy drops at first, soon turning into a downpour. As if momentarily frozen in time, he watched her coming towards him, violent gusts whipping her red hair. A deep frown furrowed his brow.

The resemblance was uncanny! The same light-boned frame, similar colours of outfit, identical hair - a fierce red reminding him of the setting sun - even the way she walked seemed familiar. Strange, how he remembered so much of one he had only met once, briefly - but what a meeting it had been!
There was no doubt in his mind any longer. It was she… Alandriel! But… how could that be? How could she look hardly older than…mid-thirties? And then it finally dawned on him. He realized what he should have known all along, what probably had been the cause for him to remember and recognize her: Númenorean blood!

Quickly he made to escape, leaving his shelter for he wanted to return to the harbour, to his ship. Yet through stepping out from under his cover, he was exposed; and to more than just the light of the day now turned grim. A strong gust of wind ripped the cloak from his tight grasp. It blew straight into his face, making it impossible for him to breathe for a moment. It tore through his hair and ripped the hood from his head as if strong and invisible fingers were at work. He cursed yet the savage word was sliced by the wind, its sound lost forever. The gale suddenly eased and furiously he wrapped his cloak around him again. Muttering as he took hold of the hood he turned his back away from Alandriel. That she had not seen him he doubted. He only hoped….

"You……?!?!?!?!" - Alas!

He froze and for a moment closed his eyes, clenching his teeth. Opportunities were limited at this point. Fighting? Not really an option he preferred since the woman just had survived a though fight and hadn’t come out of it completely unharmed although victorious. He had learned to choose a fair fight if possible; the joy afterwards was so much greater… Running? Never a desirable choice … Lying and denying? He chose the latter. After all, should that fail, he still could change his course of action.

Turning around, his face straightened. He looked at her with eyes that showed nothing of what he felt.

"Since there’s no one else around, I guess ye mean me," he said, clearly noting the sorry state she was in. A broken arrow shaft protruded from one shoulder, another one was embedded in one of her bracers. "Must take me for someone else, aye…" he mumbled as he hastily turned in the direction of the harbour.

"Not so fast friend." Her words rang out behind him. "I might forget a name but never a face and in your case - Arunakhôr - my memory is as clear as daylight."

He stopped and swallowed on a throat suddenly gone dry. Then he turned heel.

"There ye have it," he continued in the same tone of voice, feigning a lack of interest in the whole situation. A sigh followed. "Tis not me name, lass."

He rolled his eyes skywards for a moment as now the rain came pouring down anew, drenching his clothes layer by layer until it soaked his skin.

"And if ye would excuse me now… I’ve got things to do... and you should go see a healer," he added with a nod in the direction of her shoulder, trying to remember if it had been the same one he had wounded during their encounter long ago.

With measured steps she covered the short distance that separated them. Nonchalantly, a winning smile drawing attention away from what she was just about to do she said:

"You might go by another name now - that would hardly surprise me, yet......"

With a swift motion, she pulled his hood back, her sea-green eyes boring into his dark orbs. ".... yet, to me, you always remain Arunakhôr - the corsair and ...... pirate."

Without waiting for him to acknowledge or refute this statement she continued: "And it seems luck … fate… has once more brought us to the same place. Undoubtedly you could do with coin - I need a ship."

He almost turned his eyes skywards again. What gall!! First pulling back his hood while giving him that over-confident smile - women! - and then calling him… pirate?! He shuddered. Yes, he was a Corsair, yet the word pirate he loathed. It stung! It made him wonder if he ever would be able to convince her he was unlike them . She was so sure he was who she took him for that all efforts to prove the contrary seemed futile. He couldn’t let down his guard though. Arching his brow he looked at her attentively as her request sank in.

"Y’r the woman that landlubber told me about before? … The one who’s seeking a ship to sails northwards?"

"Indeed," she answered, "and I'm prepared to pay a handsome fee, a very generous sum - if no questions are asked."

Seeing his brow furrow she added in an appeasing tone: "Nothing out of the ordinary; nothing that a man such as you could not handle with ease..... a highly profitable ease. All I require is passage for a small group of people, ten at the most with a journey time of approximately a month, there and back again. More than that I will only divulge once we're well away from Mithlond. Are you interested?"

"No questions asked aye?" He snorted. "From what I’ve seen, at least three men tried to kill ye and ye tell me this will be nothing out of the ordinary? I probably would believe ye were I not convinced that somehow there is a connection. I know their kind," he said, pointing to the alley where Alandriel had nearly faced death.

"….they don’t attack one for no reason. So don’t ye tell me this will be like a vacation for me… some easy earned money. I got no business in the North!"

He looked left and right, making certain no one could hear him. His eyes clouded while he looked at her again. "Since ye seem to know me so well, I’m sure ye’ll be able to figure out why that is. Go see a healer, lass. And watch y’r back, is all I can say."

After a long, considering pause Alandriel retorted: "I'll watch my back captain - you just watch yours. I know that before long you will want to leave Mithlond …. in a hurry - and your choice of destination won't be south." She scrutinised his face once more before adding: "You can find me at the Inn, the House of the Seven Stars, should you change your mind and consider sailing for profit." And with that she drew her own hood up and walked off.

‘In a hurry indeed,’ Arunakhôr silently mused, watching her go. ‘Ye know who I am, and I’m sure ye now know what blood runs through me veins… even though I doubt y’re aware of its strength…. or so I hope. And I’d like to keep it that way…’ His eyes followed Alandriel’s steps until she was out of sight. How much he had hoped to see her again, back then when…. Not anymore! Now everything had changed. He looked around and nodded. No, now he could not stay…

The spilled blood of the corpses diluted by the rain had gathered in pools on the hard, uneven soil. Without as much as casting a glance at them the Corsair proceeded through the maze of streets with hurried steps, trusting his memories of previous visits to guide him. He cursed inwardly. This really was the last thing he needed! He should have let it be, should have followed the lead of the other passers-by. He should have been more focussed, less careless… Never had something like this happened to him before!

With the distance between him and the redhead steadily increasing, Arunakhôr regained some of his calm yet kept to his speed until he recognised Cirdan’s house. It looked exactly as he remembered. With a bit of luck, the elf still would be settled here, and at home. A closer look revealed that all windows were as dark as the clouds above the city and a few knocks on the door told him that no one was at home. Arunakhôr cursed his misfortune. He took a step back and scanned the street, looking left and right. No one was present for him to approach for information or directions. His only hope now was set on the shipyard which was - luckily - located not too far from here.

He turned, his feet walking once more over the slippery cobblestones towards the water. Amongst the fury of wind and water familiar shipyard sounds resounded: banging of metal on metal, metal on wood, sawing... The closer he got the clearer the sounds became, and when he entered a large brick building he could discern voices - talking and singing - amidst noises of heavy labour.

The building where parts for boats and ships were constructed as well as repaired was hangar-like. Many an elf and men worked industriously.
There it was where he found Círdan, the Guardian of the Grey Havens.

When he left the shipyard, he could not recall precisely how long it had taken him to come to an agreement with the shipwright. Dusk had settled in already. No doubt it must have taken him hours. As he strode out he noticed that the oil lamps bordering the street had been lit, bringing light to the dark alleys and corners, casting many an eerie shadow.

The storm ravaged on once more. Rain soaked his clothes again after just a few minutes in the open. He made his way back to the harbour using a different route. Walking over the pier he saw that all moored ships had been secured with extra lines to protect them against the power of the water that wildly crashed against the wharf. He imagined what the force of this storm would be at high sea, how the white foaming crests could lift a ship with ease… Even after only a short time on land he already missed the swaying of the timber beneath his feet. He sighed silently. Soon would he be able to feel the heaving waves at high sea again.

Three days the answer had been at first. The shipwright's eyes had pierced him while he had negotiated and the Corsair had felt anything but at ease. Still, he had been able to keep his cool and with great difficulty had managed a compromise - mostly in his favour, but most importantly about time. Tomorrow at dusk, at the latest, so went the deal with the Teleri elf after much arguing and pleading. A square sail with the correct measurements - dark canvass. Very scarce that particular material was here in the Grey Havens. Most ships preferred light coloured sails. Yet he had been lucky. All looked to be perfect - apart from the price. In front of Círdan he had acted as if money was not an issue but in truth, the price they had agreed on was much more than what he could afford. In the end, he had had little choice; it had been a matter of taking or leaving.

He spent a little while fondly regarding his vessel - she would be as good as new - until a shadow had left the ship to join him. The wind remained yet the downpour had stopped. There would be little rest this night Arunakhôr pondered as he walked the dark alleys once more. He needed coin…. heaps of coin for he almost had none left. Time was limited. He would have to be careful not to make any more mistakes.

He walked by many an Inn; the sounds and fragrances of cooking that wafted from the kitchens made him drool. His stomach knotted, to the point of hurting. He could not afford a hot meal. Maybe after closing time he would find a few leftover scraps here and there. He sighed though he knew he had survived on less and worse. If all failed, he could still join his companion in eating those last ship’s biscuits. He growled. This was not what he had expected from his visit to the Grey Havens.

Just when he started to believe he was the only one who wandered around in this weather - not that he had expected otherwise, right now most landlubbers were probably huddled up in front of their fireplace - he soon noted a slender figure walking back and forth. From the build he took it to be a woman. It was worth a try. He shrugged and slowly approached from behind when she stopped her restless pace only moments later. Nimble-fingered he found what he hoped to find, where he had hoped to find it.

As he pulled his hand back a slight breeze caressed his skin - a feather light touch - a shadow gone in an instant. It was done.

Then he felt a soft hand grab his wrist …..with determination and unexpected strength.

Posted: Thu May 13, 2004 1:40 am

All of a sudden, the man was staring at something – or rather at someone, in fact a newcomer who had just arrived at the doorstep, probably. Only, Tibodom did not immediately follow the eyes of his companion – or opponent – if you prefer. He was staring at the table, which was too high for him to feel comfortable. How could he have acted so foolishly? He had lost almost all of his money – not that it had been so much anyway – and he had gone so far to gamble the fate of his beloved mule, without which he did not know how to come back to his dear Shire…

I can almost see you, dear reader, shaking your head when watching our little hobbit and nodding: he only got what he deserved after all, didn’t he? If he did not spot the corsair cheating so obviously, is it not another sign that – I am sorry to say so – our hobbit must be exceedingly stupid? Do you really think so? All that you know already about Tibodom should help you to judge him better, though. The very idea of cheating simply did not come to his mind … Nothing in his life has prepared him to meet a cheating pirate in an Inn at an elvish haven. He trusts this man as if he had the same natural goodness as most of the hobbits (except the Sackville-Bagginses) and the kind words of the sailor have convinced him to remain the trust to the man. Did he realise that mead and brandy in an Inn of the big folk are probably a little bit stronger than ale in a the Green Dragon? Probably not so far – but once he’ll get up to walk to his room, he will understand that he is not only dizzy because he has travelled far today. You could also easily blame the Gondorian woman and the elf, who are wiser than the hobbit. Have they helped or warned Tibodom? Not a little bit, until it was too late. But in the end, in fact, Kalinel has probably done a favour for our little hero… You wonder how – let’s go back into the Inn and see.

“Master Took, I will make sure that when we meet this Alandriel we will find out what is going on, and if we have to sail I will find a home for your mule in this city or keep him safe on the ship, and with a healthy stipend to make sure he is kept well. And you have my word on that”.

« And I trust your word, Kalinel. » answered the hobbit, smiling again- although with an effort. « After all, so far I was not much of a heir for Frodo and Master Bilbo… Riding off with a well-packed mule and a purse. But now, … Although I still have my handkerchiefs in my pockets. » Tibodom tried a brave little nod, thinking of legendary great-great-uncle second degree (and one generation removed from the Brandybuck side) Bilbo and how he ran off with a wizard and a dozen of dwarves… Yet, Bilbo had come home, entire and rich – why should his own fate be different? And now already he had a story to tell to Daisy Cotton and her eyes would be shining when she looked at him.

Sipping once more on his glass of mead (Tibo – be careful!) he reached for his tobacco purse, decided to smoke a pipe and not let his good humour be affected. It was then that the woman turned towards him – probably in the friendliest of all intentions to say dreadful words: “You were very wise to get rid of your mule, before we get on board of a ship. Mules tend to be rather upset on the water and so you won’t be the one who has to care for it.” In his surprise, Tibo swallowed the smoke of the pipe he has just lit, and in order not to cough, manages a wry smile, not really knowing why. The board of a ship…. She cannot be serious. Of course, being a Took, he has already tried a bit of water and he can swim – well a bit… But he is not a Brandybuck, and the thought of living on a ship for what may be many days frightens the small creature immediately. But Tibodom has no choice any more. He can’t go back, the pirate has taken care of this. And although silly and naive, the lass is not stupid at all. Unless Alandriel – where is this one, by the way, late like all of those women of the big folk – sends him back and provides him with an animal and food for the road, there is only one road now: forward. Alone Tibodom would not have taken it. He needed a little push – Gandalf had to push Bilbo – and Kalinel has done it for Tibo. One day, the hobbit might be indeed very grateful for this.

When lifting his astonished eyes at Areanor, Tibodom sees that not only the corsair, but now the messenger too stared. Both in the same direction. He did not even check the elf – remember he is not stupid – but rather turned his head to look in the same direction. Another person stood there, in duty travelling cloths, looking with a suspicious glance at the company.

The hobbit sighed: Big people were so complicate! « I bet you search for Alandriel too. » he said aloud. « Join us, then. » Luckily he could not see Areanor’s frown eyebrows, Legyviel’s stern look and Kalinel’s bored grin.

« Tibodom Took at your service. » Tibo realised that the woman who had arrived at their table looked at him as if he were some circus attraction. What had she thought? That he was a child or a wise monkey? « Please meet Areanor of Gondor, the fair elven lady Legyviel, and my lucky dice friend Kalinel el Dileen. » Tibodom was proud to remember all the names so well.

« And if like the rest of us, you want to make the time until the arrival of Alandriel make pass quickly, order a drink. But for you, my friend, » he winked at Kalinel – « have a bit of this weed. You will see that I have not lost my most precious good to you. »

And with regained confidence and a broad smile, he handed the tobacco purse to the bald man.

Posted: Thu May 13, 2004 3:23 am

“I beg your pardon, but I also am waiting for Alandriel, so may I join you here?”

Surprised, Legyviel looked up at the woman who had spoken. She had introduced herself from Areanor, and said she was from Minas Tirith. The elf sighed inaudibly. So here was another, another of those whom Alandriel was calling together. She wondered exactly how many people the ranger had contacted, and hoped it was not a lot. Unlike popular opinion, Legyviel did not believe in the locution: “the more the merrier.” She was quite fine on her own, thanks very much.

At last, the dark corsair was talking. Legyviel listened to the other’s conversation, but did not add anything herself- rather, she watched Kalin el Dineen. The man fascinated her, with his shaven head and air of world-weariness. She had never met a pirate before, but horror stories of their raids and plunders had been enough to convince her that meeting one would be rather interesting. Looking at the man now, she realised she really wouldn’t out anything past him.

The Hobbit and corsair were talking about dice, a subject that didn’t particularly interest her, so she turned to Areanor. The Gondorian lady smiled hesitantly at her.

“So, you say you are from Minas Tirith…” Legyviel said vaguely. Small talk? It was lost on the elf- she had never thought anything could bore her as much as making small talk did. Still, if this lady was to be her companion on this voyage, it was preferable that she learnt something of her, so she’d have to risk death by boredom.

“Indeed, I am. I received Alandriel’s letter nigh on four weeks ago, and hastened here as fast as I could. Where have you come from?” Areanor asked. Legyviel mused a bit before replying, one ear to the conversation going on nearby. Apparently, Tibodom and the corsair had started a game of dice- she almost felt sorry for the sweet, little hobbit. Almost.

“Lothlorien,” she said, and left it at that. The game going on nearby was a lot more interesting, especially since the corsair was so obviously cheating and the hobbit hadn’t realised it. Areanor had a look on her face that told Legyviel she clearly didn’t approve, but the elf couldn’t care less. It was Kalin el Dineen business if he wanted to cheat a naïve hobbit of all he owned.

The Gondorian started talking to Tibodom, so Legyviel let her attention wander. Unfortunately, she had taken a chair facing the fire, so could not study the people in the inn. However, facing the fire meant she also had a clear view of the door, and who came in and out. This turned out to be a lot more interesting than watching the varied people inside the inn.

She was laughing softly at the shameless efforts of a low-born maid to flirt with a man who clearly wanted to get out as fast as he could when she noticed a strange woman enter the inn. An inaudible sigh escaped her. More of them! There was no doubt in her mind that this was another of the people seeking Alandriel. The woman seemed to have spotted them and was heading over, but before the elf could order her be gone, the Hobbit jumped in and introduced them all without further ado. A stern look was all she could give him at the moment, but she immediately resolved to wring that little neck of his and knock some sense into his head the first time she could get him alone. Was he simply stupid, or did he not know that not all strangers on the street were friendly and innocent, like he so clearly was? And yet, with all his faults, Tibodom was a fascination to the elf, who had never seen a hobbit before so close.

He’s shorter than I thought they’d be she thought with an inner smile. Putting aside her temporary annoyance, she turned to examine the even newer stranger. She had dragged up a chair, and joined in the circle around the fire. One look into the gleaming brown eyes told her she was altogether wild…and not one to be messed with. That was no trouble- Legyviel planned to keep to herself. She wrapped the cloak more firmly around herself.

Her companions, however, seemed to have other plans. Inexplicably, she was drawn into the conversation….for the time being, it seemed, there was no winning.

Posted: Thu May 13, 2004 12:06 pm

“Alright,” shouted Jaeniver. “I will go and find you any damned scow sailing west”.

The words had came tumbling out of the elf’s mouth like a tsunami, and with as little control. Dindraug stepped back, to avoid the swinging door or the storming elf was a moot point. He watched as she walked down the road, her hair flailing in the wind, headless of the rain and dark tensions of the night.

The short Avari sighed deeply, and turned back to the inn. He had agreed to come to Mithlond and see what Alandriel wanted, but already the regrets were palpable. Too many coincidences, too many haunted dreams. But for now he needed his bed, and turning he entered the ‘White Beacon’.

The room was better appointed than the ‘Seven Stars’, but then the building was younger. Dindraug took in the ornate, Doriath inspired pillars that supported the high ceiling with the contempt of one who lived in the original. He walked to a table near the fire, and sighed as a resplendent looking black haired elf stepped forward to take his order.

“ Harth, koul tal makhirin Alvarik “ said a voice across the room. Dindraug looked up and saw the proud looking elf in reindeer furs he had seen at the dock earlier. She had a haughty, reptilian cast about her, eyes too cold, too used to being served. Dindraug had no time for her this night. He smiled at the serving elf and ordered crisp wine and sweetmeats, and sat back to await the repast.

“I said hail-“ sneered Losp’indel as she sauntered up to his table.

“I heard what you said Losfinniel, your accent is still appalling” said Dindraug, giving her name in the Sindarin translation. An insult in her culture from what little he remembered of it.

“You cannot address me like that, Nandor” she barked standing directly before Dindraug. He sighed and looked up at her, stretching his toes in long leather boots.

“And yet you address me in such a way.” The Avari looked at her, and started deep into her cold eyes for long minutes. Then, as the slightest crack can cause a glacier to fall away from an ice cliff, she blanched and looked away. Dindraug smiled, and started unlacing his boots.

“You were very rude to your messenger, you owe her an apology” he said eventually as the wine and food arrived. With a slight notion of his head, he indicated that the second glass should be left.

“She is very young, she will get over it” Said the Snow Elf, softly.

“So are you K’eleklut,” smiled Dindraug, “But you do honour to your lost husband and that should remain”.

“Iceflower?” Losp’indel looked at him “How do you know -. You have been to Helloth. Of course, how stupid of me”.

“It was long ago, but I have been there. It is where you should return, not go sailing on the endless sea. That is not your place, too much will be lost to the wastes.”

“That is my decision, Alvaric Dindraug, and the decision of all my people. We have been guardians too long and for what thanks. Scorn from an Avari, who is the only one in many leagues of here who has ever heard of our people.” She stood and bowed, returning to her companions, letting the Avari stare deeply into the fire. Memories of the North washed over him, and the long journey there. He did remember this haughty elf, and her husband who had died fighting the Angmari.

Sighing he stood, and turned to face Losp’indel. “Lady, if it is your wish to travel to Valinor, I cannot stop you but I –GET DOWN”.

The knife flew across the room, and buried itself into a wooden pillar where her head had been seconds before. She snarled and drew a long pointed blade from her sleeve, and looked at the green blur running across the tables.

“Die Infern-“ The curse of the Haradrim stuck in his throat, as a fine bottle of Forlindon Merlot struck the southerner between the eyes sending him backwards. The room filled with cries, as Dindraug drew his long knife and cart wheeled across a surprised looking pair of Sindar and pummelled into the small band of assassins who had leapt in from the kitchen. He struck out, sending one reeling back clutching a bloody side, and another fell to the floor curled up in agony. He turned to face three more, his back uncomfortably open to attack.

“Excuse me.” Said Losp’indel, as she pulled a china platter out of a server’s hand and skimmed it across the crowded room, to knock one of the dark skinned thugs off the balcony. Din, his knife pinning another Haradrim to the door, gave her a grin then dodged an uncontrolled uppercut from a third would be killer.

He kicked out, pushing the man into a soup tureen, then grabbed his dirty tunic and spun him into the tall Haradrim who led them. The man caught his henchman and almost contemptuously pushed him back at the Avari. Din stepped aside as the man fell at his feet and looked at the head brigand, who smiled back at the elf.

He stood a shade over six foot, his burly form barely concealed by a coal black caftan. From the hang, Din could tell the man wore a hauberk of light chain under the cloth. His face was all but concealed by a travel stained turban and face cloth but he peeled it aside to reveal a scarred face that had seen many bitter summers.

“I would not hide my face from a man if I am about to kill him, I shall do no less for an elf” snarled the man, his accent thick with a dirty Umbarian drawl.

“I would be honoured, if it were me to meet my end this day.” said Din, watching the mans falchion and curved dagger. Suddenly, the desertman lunged, Din reposted with a knife, but the weapon was torn from his hand and skitted across the floor. He jumped to retrieve it, the curved blades of the Haradrim missing him by a whisker, but the follow up pummelled down, striking the floor by the elf’s head. Dindraug rolled to the right, then the left, the Haradrim slicing down around him, crushing tables and sending customers running like rabbits.

Then it was over. The Southron struck out too far, and the Doriath made blade that Dindraug had carried for millennia took another life. As the steel drank deep of the man’s life, the guttural rasped breath whispered “….my spirit will haunt your darkest dreams servant of Alandriel. My mistress will steal your soul Alv….” then he died.

Dindraug looked at the Haradrim. He quickly rummaged through his clothing, and found a black pendant with a white star painted on it. He looked at Losp’indel and smiled.

“Thank you for your throwing skills K’eleklut.”

“You are welcome Alvaric Dindraug, Will you join us?”. In the light of the inn she looked almost coy.

“I am sorry lady, but this one mentioned Alandriel, and I smell a mystery. I am going to the ‘Seven Stars’ to track this enigma down, and my friend Jaeniver is somewhere in the night, and I would not have her hurt”. Bowing deeply to the snow elves he moved towards the door, throwing the innkeeper the purse he had promised for word of Alandriel.

“Sorry about the mess” he said, then he was gone into the night.

Posted: Fri May 14, 2004 6:42 am

As night fell the torches that surrounded the promenade were lit, spreading a red glow over the harbour and its remaining workers. Jae could hear the merry laughter coming from Inns maybe streets away where now tired travellers and fed up harbour workers drank and ate together. She herself however was glad she could be without company for a while. In all her fury Jae had walked, no ran from the White Beacon Inn. Away from that aggravating woman. Away from the cold blue eyes, the scornful laughter that resounded in her ears.It all had pierced through the shield she had so desperately tried to maintain. And yet it got splintered, along with the last bit of her so called diplomatic assurance and self-reliance.

Jaeniver gritted her teeth and pulled her blue cloak tighter around her chest as now a cold breeze got blown landwards, chilling her bare neck. But she’d endure it, it was better to get chilled to the bone by the cold wind then to spend one more moment with that horrible woman. Leaning against the stone wall of an archway that showed a beautiful view by daylight of the harbour and the sparkling sea, Jae stared into one of the red flames of the torches. The dancing flame had a calming effect on her and she felt her anger wear off.

Now her mind was gradually cooling down she took some time to see where her rage had taken her after she run out the Inn. A street but where exactly she did not know nor how she got there in the first place. It reminded her much of the allyway the guide of today had lead them past telling them to hurry and not to stop. Perhaps these were the streets of the low life society, of the thieves and the wicked. Perhaps even murderers were amongst them. Checking both streetsways before she turned back to the harbour view she shrugged. There was nothing to be seen at either ends.

Slowly a weary state of mind came over the elf.Keeping this group together and keeping her and Losp’indel apart had taken a lot of her energy.More then she would have wanted it to take.

She emerged herself in thoughts just like she always did when she needed to rebuild herself after she got slammed into the ground. She’d retrace step by step where she had gone wrong. And so now her mind replayed the possibilities about whether Losp’Indel had been right after, that she had gone over her head accepting this task of seeing the elves off safely. It hadn’t seemed like such a difficult job back then but now…But of course, her insecurity right now was all Losp’Indel’s doing. Pondering on these various thoughts made Jae forget the world around her and thus dropped her guard slightly. If she hadn’t she would have heard footsteps approaching through pebbles that echoed their sound against the bare walls of the buildings with each step. She would have felt the movement that pulled away her cloak with inches and notice it was not the pulling of the wind. But she didn’t. It was not untill the quiet jingling of coins got her attention, not audible by most ears. Her left hand slid down to the belt on which her pouch used to be attatched.

A wave of shock rushed through her vains and she spun around, her hood falling backwards in the sweeping motion and took hold of a dirty hand that was about to dissapear in the shadows of the wall and pulled to make the owner stumble forward into the light. A man with eyes of charcoal as they looked back at her in the shade of his hood clear wet face. She knew he’d try to wriggle his way out of her hand and so she tightend her grasp a little while she narrowed her eyes, peering into his. "I believe you have something that belongs to me..." she said calmly and added a cold: "thief." She held out her other hand but the only thing she was given was a smug grin in which the man exposed a few golden teeth. "How many did you have to rob for those." She noted with a raised brow but there was no trace of humor to be heard in her voice.The man's grin became wider while his eyes slid leisurely over the female's figure in front of him before he looked back into her face. "Rob? I ain't no thief, heartie…" He laid his free hand on his chest while he then looked at his other that she still held in a grasp. "You on the other hand… Can I have my hand back, heartie?" he asked mockingly.

With a look of disgust she let go of the man’s hand but grabbed the collar of his shirt instead. "Don’t you dare look at me like that you rat. Else I’ll be the last thing you’ll ever see. Now give me back my pouch…NOW"
Looking down at the fierce creature the mocking grin disappeared and he gave her an emotionless, even scowling look. "Ye know, it's not nice to accuse people of crimes they did not commit. Is it not, aye?" He showed her both his hands and turned them around, showing he held nothing in them. Looking down at her hand he then asked, "Do you always become this intimate with total strangers? Check me pockets so ye can see for y'rself that I have nothing that belongs to you, if only to set y’r mind at ease."

"I certrainly shall." Hissed Jaeniver as reached for one of his pockets, her ears concentrating on the lightest jingle of coins or anything else. After a few minutes of searching in the the clothes -soaked from the rain- that were made in a fashion she had not seen before which the man allowed with the same grin he had worn on his face before as his arms rested on his head probably amused by the furious search of the elf. Jae’s eyes switched from left to right, scanning the man’s white shirt for anything unusual when she became awkwardly aware of the fact this man was armed. In the protective shadow of his cloak she could see the glimpse of a hilt .For a moment Jae looked up at the man who had not moved.
"Seen anything that belongs to you?" he asked with a crooked, somewhat cynical grin.

Jae straightened herself up but automaticly took a step backwards almost as embarassed she had let her self *touch* the guy as she was angry and shot him a dark look. "I know you have it. Give it back it’s of no value to you as you don’t posses that kind of morals anyway."
"What would ye know about me and me morals?" he bit now. "If I didn't have any, ye wouldn't be able to tell this story to y'r grandchildren one day. And don't bother y’rself with the tough talk, it makes no impression on me. Are we finished now?"

The elf swallowed a few further comments as once again the wind revealed the sword. She couldn’t prove to anyone he had taken it and she couldn’t force him as she carried no weapon but a simple knife and that wouldn’t do much good she knew. She had no other choice but to let him go. She let her eyes run over his body and gave him a last disgusted look. "We are."

At this, he turned around without a word and proceeded into the darkness of the city. Clutching her fists she watched the man leave with her pouch and its content and there was nothing she could do to stop him.
Furie and fuelled by defeat raged within her when a a hand suddenly made her turn around. Jaeniver was ready to spat at the man she had already been robbed so that it was useless trying when she recognized the eyes that looked at her in the darkness around them. It was Dindraug.

“What are you doing here?” she exclaimed when she finally could bring herself to talk. She wanted to shrug of his hand that lay on her shoulder but then she noticed something in the eyes of the old elf. “Din.” She began “Did something happen? Are you alright?”

Something was amiss. She could feel it. Then her ears got aware of the sound of footsteps in the street and she narrowed her eyes about to turn her head and felt the grip of Dindraug’s hand on her shoulder tighten…

Posted: Sat May 15, 2004 1:44 pm

Icy water lashed at the small ship as it struggled its way across the Hŭb Forochel, the taught canvas sails pulled tight by the struggling crew. The passengers were no help, they still had fear in their eyes, and huddled exhausted near to the mast, ornate cloaks soaked with the salty water. The captain turned to his tiller man and a look of sorrow flitted across his face. He could see that this storm was not natural, it was an affront to the gods themselves, and it would take the sailors’ lives.

And behind the tiny carrack, in the cold northern seas, ominous shapes kept pace with the ship. Long, like great black arrows, they swam with cold intent.

The mate was the first to see them; in the flash of lightning he saw a tall triangular fin slice a dozen feet above the waves. He screamed to the captain, but his voice was lost in the storm, and the fin sank out of sight.

The shapes brushed against the hull, their vast tonnage pressing against the ancient wood, splitting seams and letting cold frigid death into the wounded ship.

A crewman burst from below, his face ashen he clawed his way against the gale to the Captain to warn him of the danger below. But he saw the resigned look on the older man’s face and he stopped. He stared at the man, who had saved him from the slavers of the south, and all hope left him. Barely able to stand on the heaving ship, he let go of the rope he clutched and let his body relax. The next wave washed him over the side and into the deeps.

The captain watched his sailor vanish over the side, and cursed beneath his breath. He wished he could go in such a way, he wished he had the courage to give in to the inevitable. But he would fight until his last breath. Which was soon, he knew.

The long black shape leapt from the water and crashed down against the hull of the floundering ship. He moved his great flanks, once, twice and his jaws snapped shut on one of the shrieking forms. Then he slid back into the storm tossed sea, surrounded by the splintering remains of the small ship.

The wind whipped the waves’ tops into white peaks, and tore a flurry of the sputum and detritus of the ship out of the soft embrace of the sea. They hurtled upwards, born on the winds’ brazen claws, and were blown like an angry rain of wasps against the distant land.

In a street in Mithlond they fell like the harbingers of death. A band of elves, huddled in cloaks of reindeer hide against the night were stalked like pray by stealthy assassins. As splinters fell amongst them, steel flashed in the night. Metal crashed against metal mirroring the lightning that struck across the sky. A blinding flash and an elf fell in the street. Her companions stood around her, protecting the fallen, whilst the leader checked her and cried against the night that she could not save her. Like wolves that saw a prey they could not kill, the assassins slunk into the storm.

And on a ruined wall, on a broken isle, she stood and watched it all, and a cold smile crossed her face. She turned to look at the pitiful elf who clung to her arm. Her knight had been right, she would not last the night.

She leaned down to her, and guided the elf to her feet, her eyes staring deep into her soul.

“Do not fear the night, little one.” she whispered, and held the elf close to her. The despairing girl buried her head against the woman’s chest and sobbed. She was still sobbing when she died, her lifeblood pulled from her.

The woman stood back, and dropped the corpse at her knight’s feet.

“What, you still watch and stare Osgarcam? I would have thought you sated of that by now. Have her join the others”.

Her knight bowed, and bent almost reverently to pick up the broken elf maid and take her away. He turned to see the woman staring back across the sea.

posted by Tanith

Posted: Mon May 17, 2004 5:48 am

The creature, more than anything, baffled her.

A thick mop of ringlets partially obscured an altogether delightful face - rosy cheeked and child-like - marked by wide eyes, liberally lashed, and youthful, cherry-red lips. He could not have stood much more than 3 feet in height, and the feet that peeked out from beneath his trousers were bare, and even more surprisingly, crowned with a thick, wool-like fur.

"I bet you search for Alandriel too. Join us, then!" His voice was jovial, and somewhat louder and deeper than she had expected, and he went on to introduce himself and the three seated around him.

So eager was his self-introduction that he seemed entirely unaware of both Tanith's sharp intake of breath upon the name 'Alandriel', and the look of distaste upon the faces of the three at having their names and purpose stated so openly.

Indeed, the growing group had begun to attract the attention of the other guests - whisperers behind mugs and sideways stares grew steadily more insistant. Tanith grimaced; attention had always been a thing she detested - something her fervent, exotic presence had always seemed to afford, no matter how unprovoked.

All eyes were on her now, and she took her cue to speak.
“It seems no surprise to you, any of you, that I too seek Alandriel. In this case, I will not bore you with my purpose and tales of my passage – let it simply be known that I am Tanith.”
None attempted to confront her bid for discretion; a blessing, if nothing else. Her purpose – indeed the nature of her passage here – would remain hers, for now. Let this ‘Alandriel’ come. She would make of it what she will.

The fire was warm, throwing an incandescent glow upon the faces of her newfound company, and suddenly she felt weary. A heaviness dragged at her limbs and she accepted the seat that was offered by a passing bar-maiden. The dark eyes of the corsair swept the length of her seated form with slow, deliberate confidence; the soft-featured women to his left let her attentions linger on her face for but a second, before dropping her gaze to the floorboards. The half-ling, undeterred, turned once more to the corsair and struck up a loud dialogue with renewed vigour.
But it was the ice-blue orbs of the enigmatic she-elf that would not leave Tanith at rest, holding her gaze with a stone-cold intensity that seared into her own – and something passed unvoiced between the two; a challenge, a confrontation…and an understanding.

Posted: Wed May 19, 2004 5:47 am

The ever increasing rain and icy gusts did nothing to cool Alandriel's anger and frustration.

'Of all the people…. it has to be HIM….Arunakhôr!'

What ill fate had thrown her lot together with his? What trick of fortune was toying with her and – that was the worst part – was actually putting her into a situation where she needed him? Unbearable!
Cursing inwardly she hurried down the narrow streets. Her feet skidded, at times precariously, over the slippery cobble stones. She barely noticed. All she wanted was to put some distance between herself and that cursed Corsair. Although she could feel his presence fade with every stride she took, her memories of their last 'meeting' did not. All too well she remembered ……… how he had humiliated her. He had taken more than just her dagger….

More black clouds were rolling in, this time from the East and North. There was something hovering before this new dark tide, something elusive that fleetingly brushed her senses – like an image caught out of the corner of the eye that disappears when looked at directly. Involuntarily she shuddered. In her long years of travel Alandriel had seen many a storm brewing. This was, however, altogether different. There was something very unnatural in the way the two fronts met, creating a churning, boiling cauldron of black over Mithlond.
Her eyes strained to penetrate the gloom up ahead. She had not forgotten the Haradrim. They could be anywhere, lurking in the darkt that enveloped the ancient elf haven like a shroud. Night had come early – and without a setting sun. The small hairs at the nape of her neck stood up. A violent crash of lightening suddenly tore the skies asunder. In the brief instant of blinding light, the angular shapes of the House of the seven stars were starkly outlined. Her refuge was near.

'Brûnir is wise to have locked up,' Alandriel thought, as she made to cover the remaining distance, the howling winds furiously tearing at her slender shape. Less than five paces from the door she stopped abruptly, almost stumbled. A stifled yelp escaped her throat. Her hand rose to touch a sticky wetness, a sharp pain pulsating just below her cheekbone.

'Nothing but a splinter' she thought somewhat relieved as her fingers touched against a sharp object which she deftly removed. That there yet remained a tiny fragment she was not aware of. Her fingers were too cold and wet, her face numb from the assault of the elements.

Opening the door, she was greeted by the familiar and welcome warmth of the Inn. Alandriel breathed a sigh of relief. After wiping the smear off her cheek and squeezing her mass of tangled, wet hair she readjusted the folds of her cloak. Brûnir disapproved of overtly showing weapons in his establishment - but that was not the main reason she had drawn the garment across her chest. He was too curious. A broken arrow-shaft embedded in her shoulder would only lend fuel to his irritating habit of asking incessant questions. Satisfied, she walked to the bar counter.

Posted: Sun May 30, 2004 10:36 am

Dindraug ran swiftly through the wet darkened streets, his eyes flitting down ancient pathways. In none was his quarry. He drew to a halt and slid into the shadows as he passed the third group of humans. Like the others they were armed for war. Hilts and scabbards poked from under clumsy cloaks, secluded from mundane vision but the not the clarity of an elf on a starry night. They must have known as they wandered round the elven quarters of the city that such concealment would not work. For them to be so brash meant that they did not fear Cirdan’s militia.

He let them pass, noticing their covered faces and loose clothing. More Haradrim, there must have been a galley-load in the city tonight. Were they allied with the local thugs he had passed earlier? They were all headed one way; east towards Thoron a hên, or the House of the seven Stars as they called his old home. His time was becoming limited, Dindraug thought.

Then he heard Jaeniver’s voice, down a side street. He ran around the corner and saw her arguing with a shadowed figure. Another Haradrim, but a sailor by his dress. The captain of the galley smiled at Dindraug as he started to move quickly towards them. Only to draw himself up short and slink into the shadows as he saw more shadowy figures in the darkened street. Beyond the arguing pair he could see a handful of lupine bruisers waiting to leap out on Jaeniver when the sailor had finished with her. Another stood with his back to Dindraug, a curved knife in his hand. As the sailor walked away form Jae, his harsh voice cutting the night, Din slipped behind the would be assassin and neatly slit his throat.

Jae watched the pirate move away down the street and fumed. Din could tell this but he had no time for subtlety. He could take on the Haradrim, but not if he had to protect the young elf maid. He laid his hand on her shoulder, causing her to startle then turn on him.

“What are you doing here?” she exclaimed. He looked at her eyes, then further down the street to where the walls were suddenly moving with shadow like forms.

“Din.” She said to start the conversation again, “Did something happen? Are you alright?”

”No time.” He said, as the assailants started to rush towards them. Without a backward glance, Dindraug ran back up the street leading Jae by the hand. They leapt over the dead Haradrim, and ran down the main thoroughfare towards the sea.

They stopped at an intersection, where noble elven houses were being encroached upon by human shanties. Ancient ivy draped down to cover a Noldorian colonnade and was trying to retain a foothold now on the simple wooden roofs of men.

“Are you armed, Jaeniver?” whispered Dindraug. The elf maid shook her head dejectedly, “But you know how to fight?” he asked again. She nodded, but hesitantly. He slipped a knife into her hand, the blade was leaf shaped and older by far than she, or even Mithlond. The style was of Menegroth, made by dwarves in the days when the two peoples had been friends. Her eyes widened as she glanced at the blade.

“Does it have a name?” she whispered, as he loosened the blade’s scabbard and passed it to her.

“I call it knife, not all ancient arms have names little one. But take care of this blade for I have had it a long time and our history is long”. He smiled at her, and glanced up and down the road.

“I will treasure it, and as soon as I can get one of my own you will have it back”. Her earnest eyes looked at Din, and he smiled.

“I will accept it back only if you do not need it again, or when you find its equal”. He looked at her, and then looked down the road. He could see men approaching, Northern men who knew the streets better than he now. Looking the other way, he could see the Haradrim who were looking around as if searching for something, or someone. He sighed, and looked at the building behind them. Lights and noise inside, they could not sneak in there and wait until the two groups had passed. They were trapped.

They needed a way to hide….well it had worked before.

“We are hemmed in here,” he said slipping his arms around her waist to tie the scabbard to her belt. “ Time for a little subterfuge”. He pulled the elf maid to him tight, and kissed her gently but firmly. She looked at him with startled eyes, and found him staring at her, then motioning over his shoulder. She stopped struggling as she saw the approaching Haradrim, her lips falling from his.

“I do hope you know what you are doing.” She whispered. Dindraug just smiled at her and pressed his lips against hers.



Boymanee walked to the centre of the road, motioning to his companions to hide in the shadows. He could already see a couple of elves wrapped around each other in the shadows of an elf mansion overlooking the crossroads. They are said to be dieing out, but that pair looked like they would not let that happen, he thought lewdly. But he could see the southman had been intent on the pair, and steel glinted in his hands. Boymanee crossed to him quickly, and stepped before the dark skinned stranger.

“No you don’t.” He whispered, his hand holding the southerners arm. “You start killin’ every elf in this city an’ we’ll all be in a world of dung”. The Haradrim looked at him and nodded. The killing could begin, but not to soon.

“You ‘ave ‘ur men ready?” said Boymanee. His rough accent belayed his locality.

“I have them, all of them” said Yashin. He glanced at the smooching figures. An elf had knocked him unconscious earlier that night. He was not sure that was the same one, and he had to fulfil his contract with the Dark Lady, but he still smarted, He would slay a dozen elves tonight for the affront. But this brigand, this thief who was his mistress’ agent in the city, this fat man called Boymanee, he was right. They must not alert the guard, too many incidents had already marked this night and his brethren had paid.

“Ok then ladie,” said the thief to the assassin. “When we get to the Seven Stars, I want ‘ur men to go trough the front door. It will be open, we have help inside. My men will go through the back, an’ winders. If yer see this Alndril, kill ‘er and ‘er friends. I also wan’ ur’ men to kill anyone in the stables, an’ all the ‘orses. You ‘ave all that?”

“Yes, I understand, you want us to do the killing and you will rob those sleeping. But I have a question, how will we recognise your men. We would not want any unfortunate incidents.” The southerner’s smile was cold.

“Any more incidents yer mean,” snarled the thief, smiling. The southerner’s eyes also went cold, but he did not draw a blade. Boymanee was impressed. “Ok, we ‘ave a password. If we say ‘Dark Star’ they are with me. If your men say ‘Lost Isle’ they are with you. Yer got that”

The Haradrim just nodded, and signalled to his men who slipped off down the street towards the inn. The thief shook his head, and motioned to his thugs and muggers, brigands and cutpurses. Looking around the intersection and seeing nothing had changed, they left the streets empty.


Dindraug gave them a minute to leave, then released his grip on Jaeniver. Looking down at her he whispered “Did you hear that? We have to get to the Seven Stars”. Then he saw the look in Jaeniver's eyes.

“What?” he asked, perplexed……

Posted: Mon May 31, 2004 12:55 pm

Kalin breathed deeply and then coughed loudly.

“Ahh, Tibo, that’s sure fine stuff to put the hair on the chest of any sea dog”. He coughed again, loudly, and tried to draw breath through streaming eyes.

“But Master Kalin, I thought you knew how to smoke” said Tibodom Took, his small round face a picture of surprise and amusement.

“Ay, I can smoke fish, but breathing it in through the mouth is not part of the process,” laughed the Corsair. “My respect for your people is increasing by the second if that is what you do for recreation.”

“Master Kalin, you just have to learn how to smoke, now try this again.” The Hobbit looked so earnest that Kalin, smiling and looking doubtful, just had to take the pipe.



In the stillness of the stable, broken only by the sounds of horses moving restlessly in their stalls, men waited and talked in whispers.

“So the southerners failed then Icemark” muttered one, a common looking man who would be passed in the street. He was balding, and stooped and the hair he retained could be any colour.

“So it seems, but don’t let the others know, Weevil, we have to do this job with or without the help of our skilled assassins”. The other man was taller and thin, rangy like a corpse of a man who had starved to death. He wore his black clothes tight to his body, and covered it all in a tatty cloak of a dark brown that reached to his mid calf. To any who understood the underworld of mannish Mithlond, Icemark was a figure of some fear. No housebreaker could work his skills in the city without this man’s say, and no mugger would roll passing trade, without giving a cut to his organisation. Too many who had tried had ended days in the harbour, or buried in shallow graves by the road east.

“Go get Boymanee, we take on the inn when I say. I sent him to round up Yashin and the Haradrim that can still walk to us and we will wait until it is quiet. They go in the front door, we up the walls. You know the passwords?” The fatter man nodded, he knew what this night meant to them all. He smiled, nervously. Seeing the look on his minion’s face, Icemark whispered in the other man’s ear. “Understand me Weevil, if one of ours fouls up, the Lady will strip my hide off and bath me in salt. But not before I bring a new world of suffering to whoever fails me. Now go, and remember. I will only be upset if our men fail. The Haradrim are not our men.” He smiled at the other man, who nodded and walked out of the back door of the stable.

Looking briefly about the stable, the thief known as Icemark slipped out into the night. For all his skill he did not notice the sleeping figure in the corner. The thief was too busy thinking about his night’s work and watching the ancient building for signs that it was quiet for the night.

He was still muttering about plans when he walked into the city guard.



The door to the inn opened sharply, causing a draft that momentarily disturbed the candles and caused the bard to miss a note. A single traveller entered, straining dirty water from her hair and adjusting her cloak against the sudden heat of the room.

It was elven eyes that saw her first, but the raised eyebrow caught Kalin’s attention and he looked as the woman made her way to the bar.

“Miss, is that the lady Alandriel?” said Tibo in hushed tones to Else, the barmaid.

“That’s Alandriel, but I am not sure she likes to be called a lady Master hobbit” smiled the young woman.

“Be a pet Else, and get her a pint of your finest ale and a good shot of this best brandy” said Kalin, pushing coins into the barmaid’s hand. “Then tell her the people she has been expecting, or their proxies, are waiting for her to join us”. The woman snorted, calling her pet would not help this pirate in any conquest tonight she thought, and made her way to the bar.

“This is for you Miss Alandriel” she said, placing the brandy and ale before the rain soaked woman. The ranger looked at the drinks with some suspicion, then at Else questioningly.

“They come from that man in the silk shirt, and his companions. He says that they are the ones you were to meet.” She nodded at the table, and Alandriel turned to see them, a sharp pain from her wound making her smart.

“You ok Miss Alandriel?” said Else, noticing the ranger’s grimace.

“It is nothing,” she said, tossing the brandy down her throat. Picking up the ale she made her way towards the table, with a smile struggling to make its way across her face….


The bard watched them all. She was counting, they were nearly all here. The night was getting on, and the tempo of her tunes mellowed. Soon Brûnir would close the bar and send the guests to sleep. She had her place in the commons, and would be there to let in the night………..

Posted: Tue Jun 1, 2004 1:21 am

Again and again, her eyes were being drawn to those to their newest companion. She was not unappealing. The sharp features and full lips would be enough to make a man's heart beat double it's normal rate- if he ignored the eyes. A lustrous Golden-amber colour, they suggested an air of danger that deserved to be reckoned with.

Legyviel's own ice-blue eyes regarded the woman silently, and she felt an urge to run her hand through her long hair. It was an automatic response when something intrigued her, yet revealing her hair here, she sensed would not be a good idea. Their flamboyant silver-blue colour would be sure to attract attention, and attention was the last thing she wanted. She contented herself with resting her chin on her hand.

It was then that it happened. Something flashed between her and the strange woman who called herself Tanith. A challenge, a confrontation…and an understanding. Surprisingly, Legyviel felt herself relax, and a bit of the cold surrounding her abated. Half a smile quirked at the corner of her mouth. Instinctively, she knew they were now allies.

"You are weary, but do not get too comfortable. We have a long journey ahead of us," she murmured to Tanith.

"Do you know, then, where we are going?" she replied. Legyviel shook her head.

"The nature of our journey is unknown to me. All I know is that it will be long. I had hoped...." the elf trailed off. She might like Tanith now, but she did not trust her just yet. But she knew what she had hoped: that their journey would take them north, to the place that had been more home to her than her real home would ever be. A fleeting look of wistfulness crossed her face but was quickly suppressed. Tanith looked on the verge of asking something, but stopped when the saw that the elf's attention had wandered.

Someone had just entered the inn, a fiery looking red-head, and Legyviel felt her spirits lift at the sight of her. It had been a long time since she had last seen the ranger, but then again, elves have long memories. Her ice-blue eyes followed Alandriel as she walked to the bar, and one eyebrow rose as she took in the ranger's wet and slightly bedraggled look. She looked away when her elven ears caught Tibo's small voice whisper to the barmaid. Else left them to bustle over to Alandriel, so Legyviel turned to Tibodom.

"Well then, Master Hobbit. No doubt you are itching to introduce us all to this Alandriel, but prithee refrain this time," she admonished lightly. Tibo blushed, so she rewarded him with a smile.

"Not that I minded too much last time.... but you should be more careful than that," she added.

"I shall be!" the hobbit said it so earnestly that she let it go, shaking her head slightly. Alandriel was heading towards their small company, but Legyviel's luminous eyes wandered randomly around the room. Her eyes fell on the Bard, and she realised she had stopped playing and was instead watching them with more interest than was needed. A small frown marred Legyviel's brow.

she didn't like that look at all.

Posted: Tue Jun 1, 2004 10:46 am

Legyviel stared into the bard’s eyes, searching for something that was not there. But she found something else, something that waited for her in the darkness. Her eyes were caught, entrapped by the sight of eyes as dark as midnight and as soulless as the abyss. They grew in her vision, surging towards her like the bestial orbs of some denizen of the deep. They surged towards her, splashing through the dark expanse between them and filling the void until they were all Legyviel could see.

They encompassed her, overwhelmed her, filling her heart with fear. She tried to move but could only struggle against the cold stone she found beneath her. She tried to move her hands but they were bound to the altar by bonds stronger than fear. She looked around her to see the room was darkened, the corners indistinct, but she could see a figure standing before her. He stood tall and graceful but his face remained hidden by a shadowed cowl. She could see the taught muscles of his arms, rimmed with a thousand scars, and the curl of his mouth spoke of pain eternal. A hand lay on his shoulder, a delicate hand with white skin and long black nails. It slid around his neck, the nails leaving a thin tracery of blood as she stepped from behind the man.

“Who do you have here?” she asked, her voice deep and sibilate. She moved into the dim light and Legyviel saw her face. She was as beautiful as ice, as sensual as the crushing power of the sea and yet she seeped desire like the sun bleeds light.

“She is pretty, my Knight. How have you kept her from me?” she said, the tone was startling and deadly.

“She is nothing, my mistress. Pay her no heed” said the man, his voice ancient and proud.

“She is weak, too weak for you my Knight”. The woman had moved in front of her knight now, her fingers trailing down his arm reached out to touch Legyviels face. They felt like frozen silver and tore at her skin. “You see my dear, he says you are nothing, to pay you no heed. Don’t you think that callous, that this one who is but a servant, a slave, would treat you so…..dispassionately?” The woman ran her fingers down Legyviel’s cheek and across her shoulders to her blue-silver hair which she brushed her hand through, gently resting it on the back of her neck as the woman came to a stop behind her.

“Well, do you?” said the woman, her tone coy.

“I am more than nothing.” said Legyviel. The woman laughed loudly, cruelly, but all Legyviel could see was the face of the man, the elf, who stood there and dropped his eyes. She looked at him pleadingly, but he just looked away and his handsome face was once more hidden by his cowl.

“You are nothing, you do not deserve to be anything, you have no name,” came the whispered voice behind her.

“I have a name” said Legyviel, her voice broken and as empty as a zephyr in the cold air.

“You have no name, you never had a name, you are nothing now, you will never amount to anything but food for the dogs,” shrieked the woman, the words echoing round the room.

“I have-“

“You have nothing, nothing, NO Thing, and no hope” roared the woman, her breath hot and burning on Legyviel’s face, lashing at the raw skin where icy fingers had lacerated the elf’s flesh. She felt deeply inside her, pulling up at the wells of power, only to see them torn to shreds by this being.

“I ha-“she tried, but the woman had turned her head to face her and Legyviel looked into her face and saw what she was. She could do nothing, say nothing….in her mind she was nothing. She could not stop the claw like nails as they drew themselves against her throat but she felt the icy splinters enter her neck. The hand moved up and held her chin, those eyes boring into her soul, ripping aside any pretence of herself, and she whispered…

“I have no name, I have no name”


“Legyviel, are you alright?” The voice of the Halfling Tibo came to her from the darkness and she looked up to see his startled face. “You just fell, and started to mutter something. Are you hurt, are you unwell?”

Legyviel looked around at her companions; they looked concerned, even Tanith looked perturbed by her actions. But the rest of the inn was as before and the bard played a mournful tune that brought to mind expanses of ocean, broken only by dark shapes with black soulless eyes……

“Look, you have scratched your cheek” the Hobbit’s voice was saying.

posted by Aliana

Posted: Wed Jun 16, 2004 9:00 am

“This is the place.” Aliana pushed her soaked hood back from her dripping brown hair as she and her brother entered the stables of the Inn of the Seven Stars. However briefly they had been caught in the chilly downpour, both siblings and their gelding and mare looked rather like they had been dumped unceremoniously into the sea. Like good Rohirrim, Aliana and Ceorth had gone to see about their horses’ lodgings before their own. At any rate, Ceorth had observed, this Inn looked like quite the busy establishment; who knew how long they might have to spend waiting on service?

Aliana looked around. The stables, at least, were dry, and appeared to be reasonably well-tended. She could see her brother’s posture relax visibly in the presence of all the horses. She looked around for an attendant, but saw no one for the time. Just as well, she thought. She and Ceorth managed to find two empty stalls adjacent to one another, and set about making their animals comfortable.

“So how,” Ceorth said in a low voice as he unsaddled Cwen, “are we supposed to go about finding this Alandriel woman?”

“We’ll… make some inquiries,” Aliana replied over the stall wall. “Discreetly, of course. Try and discern if she’s someone to be trusted, once meet her.” She was not about to admit to her younger brother that she had really not given that much thought to the matter, that she had rather hoped, quite irrationally, that their mysterious letter-writer would be able to find them first, somehow. Nor was she about to admit that she, herself, was growing very impatient to find out what this whole business was about in the first place, anxious to know that they hadn’t made this long journey in vain.

Stifling a yawn, she walked down the aisle in the center of the dimly-lit building in search of a bucket she could use to fetch some fresh water. On her way, she stumbled over an object, barely catching herself from a fall. She was about to curse, when she saw that the object was now looking up at her with an expression of bleary inquisitiveness.

“Ah!” she said, letting out a little cry of surprise. “Pardon me…sir?” she squinted at the object through the darkness. Yes, it was indeed a “sir,” a grown man folded inconspicuously into a corner of a stall which was also occupied by a light-colored horse.

“Then pardon me, as well,” the stranger smiled, making a move to stand. Aliana extended a hand, which he took to pull himself up; he had a rough palm and a strong grip. He stood at least a head above her.

“Ali, everything alright?” Ceorth asked as he walked over to them. “Oh,” he said, expressing his own surprise at seeing the man, whose appearance could now be taken in a bit better. Aliana noted his good riding boots and the braids that hung loosely in his blond hair. Ceorth must have noticed these details at the same time, because he said, “Rohan?” a tentative smile on his face.

“Yes, Rohan,” the man said, his own smile widening a bit. “You?”

“Rohan, as well,” Aliana replied.

“Edoras,” Ceorth added, looking visibly relieved to have met one of his own countrymen in this strange place.

Introductions were traded. The man’s name was Braganil, and he was a King’s Rider possessed of what seemed to be an easy and open enough manner. He and Ceorth quickly deduced that they had a great deal of friends and acquaintances in common, and had probably met, themselves on more than one occasion; Aliana realized, with a wry smile, that the community of Riders in the Mark was probably closer-knit than any old women’s sewing circle. Come to think of it, this man looked quite familiar to Aliana, as well. Probably she had seen him around Meduseld at some point or another.

After a few minutes of pleasant banter, Braganil’s face took on a more serious expression.

“So…” he said, in a quieter, slightly more guarded tone, “what brings you two so far north? So far from home?”

Ceorth glanced at Aliana, who hesitated for a moment. How much should they tell him? He was Rohirric, after all, one of their own. And he slept in a stall with his horse. Aliana instinctively trusted the sort of man who slept in a stall with his horse. Still, they needed to be cautious…

“There was a summons, of sorts,” she started softly, wondering how vague or specific she should make her statement. “A letter…” She watched as Braga’s eyes widened slightly. Recognition, perhaps?

She had little time to wonder, however, and no opportunity to finish her statement, because the next sound she heard was a sharp crash. The already dim lights in the stable were snuffed out, and there was the unmistakable snick of blades being unsheathed, and suddenly they were beset on all sides.

posted by Braganil

Posted: Wed Jun 16, 2004 9:35 am

Braganil was just in the middle of one of the best dreams he's had in many months: he was riding with Rahedan over a deep green pasture, children playing at his feet, the birds singing and a fine young lass in
front of him. he was holding her tight with one arm, while his other hand cut down daisies with his sword which miraculously flew into the hair of his lass, arranging themselves as a nice bright yellow crown upon her head. Rahedan took them to a hay field, they dismounted and started rolling in the hay when suddenly Braga was bumped out of his pleasant fanatsy.

A woman was standing before him... no, she had no crown of yellow circling her head, but she looked pleasant enough. With her help, the Rider got up and brushed down his pants and shirt, now having a closer
look at the woman before him. Aaah, really, really pretty, maybe his dream would come true after all?

No. A male voice could be heard, and Braga's little dream bubble burst with an inaudible small plop. However, his slight disappointment was compensated by the fact that he somewhat knew that man who now
introduced himself. It looked as if they both had served their first year under the same Aethelwigend (Captain of a patrol). Sheer coincidence must have prevented their paths to cross more directly than
that, but Braga was sure glad to see a fellow Rohirrim in this Bema-forsaken place.

When the talk came to the how and why they were here, he could feel their reluctance. Were they send on a secret mission? But why would Ceorth take a woman with him then? Women and secrecy... never went well together, he smirked. But then he heard about the letter and his eyes fixed on the woman. "A ... letter? one that calls you to the Seven Stars Inn to meet a woman named Al-...

"Oh great, first my dream girl eludes me and now THIS? Whoever you are – DON'T YOU KNOW THAT IT'S RUDE TO DISSTURB A CONVERSATION?! SHOW YERSELVES!"

And show themselves they did!

Immediately, Braga had drawn his dagger, watching his two fellow Rohirrim draw their own weapons while he back into Rahedan's stall again where he had his weapons, a long axe and a sword, stashed for the
night. Holding his dagger in front of him, he first gabbed the axe, pushing it hurriedly into his belt, then drew his sword out of it's sheath, rejoining his kinsmen at their side.

"Who ARE they? You have any idea? Did they come with yo-...WOW!" One of their attackers had started to rumble in earnest now, the shining steel of a blade barely missing Braganil's right ear. Through the dim light he could see a silhouette closing in on him, his sword slashing out at the men, then he took a step backwards to see where his two companions were. They had their hands full themselves, so Braga concentrated
on the man before him. His attacks were swift, well-placed, the Rider had some difficulties at first to parry the angry slashes aimed at him, ducking and finally diving onto the ground, letting himself roll back into Rahedan's stall. the horse was relatively calm, must be his smell, Barag thought. When Rahe knew his Master was near he always was as steady as a rock.
Taking a handful of dirt from the ground, Braga quickly jumped back onto his feet, tossing it directly into his opponent's face. it bought him a few
seconds... his sword came slashing down onto the man's sword arm, almost severing it close to the shoulder.

One down... but how many more to go?